


A Princess Among Us—an HTTYD fic series

by galaxiesbehindmyeyes



Series: Berk and Back Again [1]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, French!reader, Princess!Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 12:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15707352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxiesbehindmyeyes/pseuds/galaxiesbehindmyeyes
Summary: A mysterious girl from a far away land arrives on Berk's shores one night, along with an ominous thunderstorm. Who is she, and why is she alone?





	A Princess Among Us—an HTTYD fic series

Along with the rolling waves and ominous storm clouds, a small boat that held but one passenger approached the island of Berk. The girl looked behind her and up to the sky, hoping that what had just covered the midnight moon—and deprived her of any light aside from that of her lantern—was a small, benign cloud that would pass by soon. However, to her dismay it was nothing short of a massive cloud column made up of black cumulonimbi.

“Wonderful,” she muttered under her breath. She trotted to the only mast on the boat and tightened the forestay, a rope that gave the only sail more room to stretch, allowing the wind from the coming storm to carry her toward the island even faster. 

“Let’s hope _we_ can reach _them_ before _it_ reaches _us_ , eh?” The young woman’s deep brown hair was held up in a delicately braided bun, but a few strands around her face had managed to slip free of their bindings, fluttering about her eyes and tickling her nose. 

She kept her hands steady on the tiller and ever so gently nudged it to the right, causing the boat to swing to the left. As she came around the left side of the island she saw the docks, and an excited gleam of light snapped in her fierce green eyes. The girl quickly released the backstay and forestay, and the sails collapsed on themselves. The small vessel floated along at a very lackadaisical pace, giving her time to tie up the ropes for the sails so that they would not come free.

When the boat finally reached the dock and the bow softly bumped the weathered wood, a loud clap of thunder resounded through the air, causing the girl to jump and nearly let out a shriek in surprise. 

“Oh, please don’t rain on me,” she wheezed, leaning down and opening the door to a small storage compartment beneath the cover of the stern. Inside were her only belongings, which she stuffed into an old canvas sack. A glass bottle of fresh, clean water, a glass bottle of deep red wine, a kindle box, three dull red apples, some extra rope (you never know when it might come in handy, although she certainly did), and her notebook. 

That old, leather-bound book was quite arguably her most prized possession. Between those worn covers were intricate maps, detailed pages from ancient philosophy books—some of the writing being so small you nearly needed an eyeglass to read it—, very precise recordings of her past sailings, and a journaling section in the back. That journal practically told every minute of her everyday life, everything from what she ate for every meal, to the interesting vegetation she had spotted on one particular island, to sailing maneuvers in the case of a storm. That book was her guide to…well, everything. 

After the girl cinched the sack closed and slung it over her shoulder, she hopped up onto the dock, her leather-soled shoes barely making a sound. Adjusting the sack’s ropes on her shoulder, she flinched when she felt a drop of rain land on her cheek and heard another round of loud thunder. She squinted up at the sky, noticing the black storm clouds that were now covering the entire sky, and winced as raindrop after raindrop hit her face. What she failed to notice however, was the rather large Viking approaching her on the dock. 

“Who’s there?” the man cried out, his loud voice and oddly horned hat startling the girl and causing her to scream in fright. She whipped around to see him with impossibly wide eyes, and raised her hands in a defensive manner.

“I—I’m not here to harm anyone,” she spoke calmly, though her heart was racing with fear. “Please, just—” thunder clapped again, interrupting her with its volume and sudden outburst of rain— “just…I need shelter. A-and food; _real_ food.” The downpour soaked her hair, making the dark locks become darker and come undone from their braids. “I promise I’ll explain everything.” She prayed her notebook would not get wet, even though it was inside the sack.

The Viking man squinted his eyes in suspicion but beckoned for her to follow him. She followed him down the length of the dock and up the steps to set foot on the island itself. After a short trek through the Viking village and up a dozen stone steps, the two arrived at the Great Hall, where the girl knew she would be dry and safe, at least for a while.

Inside the huge building were rows of benches and tables, two big fire pits, and but a handful of Vikings, all of whom looked to the door to see the girl and one of their own. Suspicious looks and whispers were exchanged, none of which she missed. She didn’t blame them though; she would be skeptical as well if a stranger had suddenly appeared in her homeland. 

“Stoick!” her escort shouted across the Hall, “We have a visitor!”

A huge man (who was apparently Stoick) only slightly taller and wider than the man the girl was with turned from his seat at a bench. His large red beard swayed as he arose from his seat, and the brown fur on the cape he wore fluttered behind him as he approached the two. The length in his strides was staggering, and after a mere four steps he was directly in front of the girl and his colleague. 

“Found her at the docks on the west side of the island,” the man beside her explained.

“Thank you, Spitelout,” he grunted, and turned his steely gaze to the girl. “Where are you from, lass?” he asked in a softer tone than she expected, throwing her off guard. 

“I’m from across the southern seas,” she managed to say, the cold from the rain finally settling in her bones and making her shiver. She pulled her thin cardigan closer around her middle. “From France.”

The red-bearded man’s red eyebrows shot up into his red hairline. “France, you say? That’s quite a ways from here, lassie.”

She nodded, dropping her canvas sack to the stone floor. “Believe me, I know. I sailed all the way here in naught but a small vessel I managed to commandeer from a fishing harbor.” She followed Stoick as he walked to one of the blazing fire pits, and instantly hummed in comfort. 

“You have skill on the high seas, then?”

“I suppose so, if I managed to make it all the way to the land of the Vikings.”

Stoick chuckled. “ _I_ would say so. If you don’t mind my asking, why is it you decided to venture out from your homeland?”

The girl lowered her eyes to the fire, willing the flames to burn away the guilt in her heart; the guilt of betraying her country. “France was once a beautiful country. A beautiful monarchy. But our people have been going to war with the English, and now no one is safe. Especially not royalty.”

The large man looked down at her with a shocked expression, and she was almost surprised to see that he had connected the dots so quickly. 

“You’re royalty, lass?” he whispered gruffly, the girl thankful that he was discreet with his revelation.   
  
She nodded slightly. “I am. I am a princess, although I do not wish to be. Aside from the fact that it is dangerous for a royal to be in France at the moment, I simply…do not wish to bear the burden of the crown. It’s not…me.”

“I understand,” Stoick empathized, “Being chief is no easy feat either.”

Now it was the girl’s turn to be shocked. “You’re the _chief_?”

He laughed heartily, throwing back his head, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Aye, that I am, lass! I am Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk!”

“To think, not only have I managed to sail here all the way from France, but the second Viking I meet is the Chief!” she exclaimed. 

“Well, it’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Stoick said with cheerful grace. “What may we call you, lass?”

The girl smiled. “Odette.”


End file.
